The wind and stream of this day
catch me
whirl me around and around
I wonder if I ‘m being ground down
to become a smother stone
course edges honed into sparkling sand
or will the deep-rooted hidden
sadness
doubt
and fear
replace the wind
with a kind of pitiful persistent darkness
that bedevils and erodes the heart
and swallows the wiggles and joy
of the giggling little boy
still alive inside?

On the other hand

Yet I search
like da Gama, Cortez and Armstrong
like Jesus, Buddha, and Black Elk
yet I hope for  
a kernel
a grain
a glimmer
of the overwhelming
never-ending
reckless love of God.